Trials
by lilacbush80
Summary: This is my version as to what the Teen Titans would have been like if they had been around in the late 17th century. Sorry for the wait, but chapter 9 is now up!
1. Chapter 1

A/N: For those of you who are waiting for chapters to my other two stories, they are coming (slowly). This story has been floating around in my head for awhile now, so I wanted to get it out and get some feedback. This story starts out during the Salem Witch Trials and I know that some stuff in this story won't be 100 accurate with history, but that's why it's called "fiction." I did a little research to make it as close as I could. Hope you enjoy and don't forget to review!

I still do not own the Teen Titans.

Trials

"Good-bye, Sarah," I whisper, placing a daisy upon her final resting place. Bowing my head for a moment, I take the time to say a quick prayer for her soul. I look around, making sure none have seen me. Though it is the middle of the night, I know that I am not safe and begin my journey home.

I enter the forest, being sure to stay off the designated path. The stars being my only source of light, I walk as though blind, my hands held out in front of me. It is a precaution I must take. If any see me, I shall surely be taken away and hanged, just as Sarah was, accused of witchcraft.

These are hard times in which we live, here in Salem Village. Mass hysteria engulfs us as countless accusations are made day after day against friends, neighbors, even family. No one is safe. Just last week, mother was taken for supposedly bewitching the Putnam's cow. A small smile plays at the corners of my mouth. If only they knew the truth.

Sixteen years ago, the day before mother and father were to be wed, a demon, in the guise of father, came to mother by night and lured her into bedding with him. The demon revealed himself to her afterwards and told her that the child growing inside of her would be different from all others. Nine months later, I, Rebecca Roth, came into this world, half mortal and half demon.

Anyone could see that I was not the daughter of Goodman Roth, yet none could prove it. Father still shows resentment towards me and mother, leaving early in the mornings to work in the fields, returning late in the evening to sup and close himself in his room. It is as though I have no father.

My powers began to develop at an early age. Fortunately, no one but mother was around to see me destroy a kitchen chair merely by glaring at it while feeling angry. Mother tried to explain why this was happening. She told me of my true father and how I came to be. I was scared, but glad that I had her there with me.

She helped me suppress my emotions by teaching me what she called "quiet time," allowing my mind to go blank so that I would remain calm. It helped. More powers followed: moving certain objects with my mind and healing others by absorbing their pain.

I do not think of myself as a witch. The villagers seek one who dances skyclad by moonlight with the Devil as her partner, or interacts with black animals that are really the Devil in disguise, or persecutes young girls by making them throw fits in front of the whole town. I do none of these things, nor have I the desire to do them. I am unsure as to what I am.

I have made my way through the woods and enter the house quietly, taking a moment to listen for anything that is amiss, and slip silently into my room. Only after closing the door do I allow myself to light a candle so that I may prepare for bed.

I remove my bibbin and apron, say my nightly prayers, and slide into bed without removing my dress. I need to be up early now so that I may complete mother's chores as well as my own. I blow out the candle and am asleep in minutes, thanking the Lord one more time for allowing me safe passage through this night.

"Rebecca." It is father's voice. I open my eyes to find him standing over me. He is not alone: Captain Jonathan Walcott is with him. I know by the look on his face that he is not here for a social visit. "Get up, girl."

I rub the sleep from my eyes and slowly sit up. "What is the matter?" I ask groggily. "Why do you waken me so early?"

"Stop this tomfoolery," he hisses. "Tis midmorning, yet ye have not risen. Dost thou think thou art royalty?"

I look to the window in amazement and find that he is right. With a quick gasp, I throw off my blanket and stand, searching for my shoes as I straighten my dress. "Forgive me, father," I plead. "I-I did not sleep well and—"

"Save your lies, girl," he interrupts. "Tis not I ye should be asking forgiveness from, but the Lord. Since the day ye were born, I knew ye were a witch, yet proof could not be found. Until now."

A cold knot forms in my stomach. "I know not what ye speak of, father," I say in a deceptively calm voice. I clench my hands until the nails enter my palms to keep them from shaking.

He slaps me with the back of his hand so hard that my head turns as far as it can. I cry out in surprise and pain, bringing my hand up to cover the cheek that was struck as it begins to sting, and turn back to look at him. His face is a glowering mask of rage.

"Cease from calling me by this title," he says in a low voice, taut with anger. "Only my daughter, one born of my flesh and blood, may call me 'father.'" He spits in my face and my body stiffens in shock. "I have no daughter."

He raises his arm, as though preparing to strike me again, and I cringe in anticipation. Captain Walcott steps forward and grabs father's wrist firmly. Father looks to him in surprise, perhaps having forgotten the Captain was there.

"Joseph, this is not necessary," Captain Walcott says. He releases father and turns his attention to me. "Rebecca Roth, you have been accused of practicing witchcraft. Ye will come with me now and await your trial."

"I-I do not understand," I stutter, wiping the saliva from my face with my sleeve. "I-I am no witch. Who hath made these false accusations against me?"

His expression clouds in anger. "Elizabeth Parrish and my daughter, Mary, have made accusations against you. They have seen your spectrum come to them as they sleep, tormenting them by choking and pinching them in their dreams. Ye are also the daughter of a witch and friends with the witch, Sarah Good. Need I continue?"

"No, sir," I say softly. I look around, trying to find a means of escape. I could crawl out the window, but I would need the chair from the corner in order to reach it. That would take valuable seconds that I do not possess.

I could use my power to throw my night table at them as a distraction, yet that would surely prove that I am a witch if I was caught. The doors are unguarded and I could try running, but I know not if the captain has brought others with him. I also do not think that I can outrun him. Even if I did, he need only call "witch" and he will have the entire village after me.

"Will ye come quietly, then, Rebecca Roth, to stand trial at the Court of Oyer and Terminer?" he asks.

I have no other choice. "I will," I answer quietly. I secure my bibbin, but leave my apron behind. Father laughs, hoarsely and bitterly, from the corner where he now stands. I look at him questioningly.

"Enjoy hell, witch," he sneers as the Captain grabs my arm roughly and escorts me to prison.


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: I apologize in advance to anyone who may take offence at my use of the Scriptures and anything relating to them. Considering this story takes place in Salem Village when Puritanism was the major religion, I had to look at things the way they would. If you have something against Puritans and what they believe, I suggest you not read this chapter. Otherwise, enjoy! Don't forget to review!

Trials, Chapter 2

"Lord, what did I do to deserve this?" I whisper, wrapping my arms around myself to preserve warmth.

I sit in the corner of a small room of the Salem Village prison, one leg chained to the stone wall. I am unsure as to how long I have been here now: without windows, it is always dark as night in here. There is no source of heat, so I move closer to the one who sits next to me in hopes of sharing her body warmth.

I have determined that there are at least 20 people crammed into this room at this time. There is not enough space for all to sit at once, so we take turns. We have not bathed nor been given clean clothes since our arrivals. My first day here, I could not stop retching from the smell alone.

Stale bread and well water is brought to us once a day in buckets that we pass around the room. Sometimes there is not enough for all. Two have been taken away so far, having died due to the conditions, though the guards claim it was because their sins found them out.

I sit beside one who is great with child. Her name is Elizabeth. She has been here longer than I, having already been tried and condemned of witchcraft, yet because of the babe that grows inside of her, she will not be hanged. At least, not until after she has given birth. She prays that the child will wait until after the madness has died down before he comes into this world.

I often wonder what has become of my mother. I miss her so much. Is she still here in Salem Village or has she been moved to Boston like so many others? Has she already had a trial? Has she been condemned? Has she been hanged? A tear rolls down my cheek. With no word from the outside on her, all I can do is wonder.

I could easily break out of here. My powers are strong enough to break the chain which holds me as well as the door to this prison. I could free all who were wrongfully accused and be as a savior to them. But then what? We are all so weak, having been here so long. Again, we would be arrested and all would confess to my being a witch so that they could save themselves.

"Is there no way out of this?" I ask no one in particular.

"No," Elizabeth answers bitterly. "None are found innocent. The judges and jury believe the lies of ranting children rather than the truth."

"What if I were to confess that I am a witch?" I ask, starting to feel somewhat desperate.

She laughs scornfully at me. "Ye are no more a witch than I," she scoffs. "Rather than be killed, ye would be placed in another prison, called upon to lie of the guilt of others. Could ye live with that for the rest of your life? Condemning others all because ye are afraid of dying?"

"I do not fear death," I retort, hearing my voice shake slightly.

"Well ye should," Elizabeth says earnestly, clutching one of my hands. "Especially if ye choose that path. Ye will become responsible for the deaths of so many others. Doth not the Scriptures say, 'ye shall not kill'? Ye will be condemning yourself to hell for all eternity."

"I do not wish to attend hell," I say quickly, remembering stories that were told me as a child. "Nor do I wish it upon my worst enemies. Is that what shall become of those who have wrongly accused us?"

"I believe so," Elizabeth replies sadly. "At least, if they continue on this path which they have chosen. One day, they will have to answer to God for the sins which they have committed. Whether He will forgive them or not has yet to be seen."

I close my eyes, feeling utterly miserable. "Then how do I get out of this?" I ask again.

"You don't," Elizabeth says softly, withdrawing her hand. "I was called to my trial where I had to stand before what was left of the village. I was asked questions of which I answered all truthfully, yet the magistrates were able to twist my words so that I sounded guilty.

"People who I once thought of as friends were called upon to give false testimonies against me. Young girls would cry out at random that I was torturing them through the use of my spectral, pinching and biting them and leaving marks behind as proof. In the end, I was found guilty, as were all who came before me."

"Then I am already dead," I say, feeling bereft and desolate. "Why do they bother to put me on trial if they are only going to kill me for crimes I have not committed? What is the point?"

"It is for their benefit," she says. "They try ye as though by the laws of the Lord, calling ye an innocent until ye are proven guilty, when really ye are guilty until proven innocent. Then, when your guilt is made public, they may kill ye without any guilt falling upon them.

"I do not understand."

"Do ye remember the story of Pontius Pilate when he tried Jesus? In the end of Christ's trial, Pilot gave in to the mob's request to kill Him. Pilate washed his hands, proclaiming he had nothing to do with the Crucifixion of this innocent, when truly he was most guilty because he could have stopped it."

"What are ye saying?"

"I merely ramble," she says tiredly. "I advise you, though, that when ye are called, hold your tongue. Speak nothing, for all ye say proves your guilt."

I look up quickly when I hear the faint sound of a key unlocking the door to this prison. I sigh, sure that it is merely another innocent wrongfully accused, all because he was a little different. Now I shall have to stand more often, I think sourly.

We begin to move around, allowing room for the door to open inwards so the newcomer may enter. He remains in the doorway, a candle held before him. It is practically blinding after having gone so long without light.

It is only one of the guards. He enters slowly, maneuvering around the bodies, moving the candle back and forth, searching for someone. The light reflects off the blade he wears at his side, as though reminding us what he can do if necessary.

"I have come here in search of Rebecca Roth," he says. His voice is slightly muffled as he holds a hand over his mouth and nose. "Is there a Rebecca Roth here?"

I look at him in surprise, forgetting for the moment to speak. Is it time? Elizabeth elbows me in the ribs.

"Ouch!" I cry out. The light comes back in my direction, and I look up, squinting against its harshness. "I mean, I am here."

"Come with me," he says curtly and heads back towards the door.

I begin to follow, unsure whether my legs will hold me, when Elizabeth grabs my hand. "Remember," she reminds me as I look down, seeing only shadows again, "to hold your tongue."

"Will they not kill me for this?" I ask softly.

"They will kill ye no matter what, my friend," she says. "At least ye may enter heaven with a clear conscience. The choice be yours."

I squeeze her hand lightly. "Thank ye, Elizabeth. May the Lord bless ye and your child." I release her hand and continue making my way slowly to the door, looking back once into the darkness before leaving.


	3. Chapter 3

Trials, Chapter 3

"Welcome to your new home, witch," the guard says nastily.

I bite my tongue to keep myself from correcting him on the choice title he has given me. Entering slowly into the small, cramped room, I take in my surroundings while there is still a source of light. There is no one here, save for the two of us. The guard pushes me from behind, causing me to stumble, before coming in himself.

"Against the wall," he commands. I move to the farthest wall, having no fight left in me after the examination, and find chains hanging from above. He sets down his candle and secures my wrists above my head, allowing his hands to slide slowly down my arms and brush against my breasts. I know without reading his mind that his intentions are impure. It is all I can do not to bring my knee up hard into that soft spot all men have between the legs.

He leans in closely. "Such a pity," he whispers, his breath hot against my ear, "a pretty little thing like thee down here all by thyself. I shall have to return later to give thee some company." His dark eyebrows arch mischievously. "Perhaps we can even have some fun together."

A shudder runs through my body and I turn my head away, clenching my fists in anger. With a soft chuckle, he takes his candle and leaves, closing the door and locking it, leaving me in darkness once again. I wait a moment before I begin to use my powers to undo the chains on my wrists. It takes a few minutes as I do not wish to break them so that I may put them back on should someone return.

Having completed my task, I sink to the floor, drawing my legs up to my chest and wrap my arms around them. Tears begin to well within my eyes. I clamp my lips to imprison a sob that threatens to escape as I recall the events of this day.

_Memory_

I am escorted from the prison by three guards. The one who came for me walks quickly on my left, having placed manacles on my wrists, keeping a firm grip on my arm and forcing me to keep pace with him. I glance back to find the other two following close behind.

Emerging onto the street, I stop for a moment to close my eyes and breathe in the crisp, fresh air. The guard pulls roughly on my arm and we continue. As we walk, I cannot help but gaze around at everything as though seeing it for the first time.

Dry, dead leaves roll across my path, being chased by a cold wind that sends shivers through my body. The trees are all bare now, their skeletal branches reaching toward the heavens. Thick, gray clouds roll across the sky with threats of rain or perhaps even snow.

Hard-working men stop their tasks to glare as we pass. Women gather on the corner across the street, whispering amongst themselves as they watch fearfully from the corners of their eyes. Upon seeing me, a young mother gathers her two children into her arms and rushes across the street lest I cross her path.

My mind is congested with doubts and fears. So many of these people I have known since I was a child. I have not even been tried, yet they have already condemned me. I see it in the way so many look at me, so full of hatred.

Before I was accused, I had attended only one other trial, that of Sarah Good and two others, and was forced to stand outside the meetinghouse and watch from a window because there were so many villagers present. We enter in now to find very few people waiting. I assume this is because so many already know my outcome.

I am brought up to stand but a few feet from the table where the magistrates sit. The guard releases my arm, but neither he nor the other two leave. I recognize the magistrates as John Hathorne and Jonathan Corwin, members of very well-known families here in Salem and important local officials. Off to my left stand the supposed afflicted girls, standing stock-still and staring ahead as though entranced.

John Hathorne begins the examination. "Rebecca Roth," he says loudly, bringing my attention back to him, "thou hast been brought here today on the accusations of witchcraft. How dost thou plead?"

I lift my chin, meeting his icy gaze straight on, refusing to answer. I can tell he is not pleased by this as his brows draw together in an angry frown. His expression becomes taut and derisive.

"Canst thou not hear, girl?" he asks a little louder. Corwin leans toward Hathorne and whispers something to him. His mouth dips into an even deeper frown. "I see," he says, his voice hardening. "Ye assume that because thou dost not answer, ye cannot be found guilty, yes?" He continues on without giving me a chance to respond. "Thou canst be found innocent, either. Dost thou understand?"

I merely blink at him. He shakes his head slightly in disapproval and looks down to the papers set before him. "Rebecca Roth, what evil spirit have you familiarity with?" he asks.

I give no answer, keeping my features deceptively composed. A tense silence envelops the room. I am sure those in attendance today did not anticipate this. I know without turning around that they are agog to find out how this shall turn out.

"Have you made no contact with the devil?"

No answer.

"Why do you hurt these children?"

No answer.

"Do you employ someone to hurt them?"

No answer.

"Do you employ a creature to hurt them?"

No answer.

He asks me the same questions again. A shadow of annoyance crosses his face as he still receives no answers. He stares at me for a moment, plotting out his next move. His mouth takes on an unpleasant twist as he turns his gaze to the supposed afflicted girls.

All four of them begin to scream and start dropping to the floor, writhing as though they are in torment. One twists her arm farther than is possible, as though trying to dislocate it. Another scratches at her arm violently with a wild-eyed look. The others appear to be seizing, blood running out their mouths from bitten tongues as they babble.

Mothers run to their sides, attempting to stop this insanity or revive those who have now lost consciousness. Hathorne has to yell above the ruckus to be heard. "Who harms all of ye in this way? Who makes ye do these things?"

Abigail Parris, the one who was scratching her arm, does not answer, but merely looks in my direction, as her mother and another woman attempt to restrain her. It is enough. Hathorne's gaze returns to me.

"Dost thou care to answer now?" he asks. I shake my head slightly as the room returns to silence, save for the calming murmurs of the mothers. He purses his lips in annoyance.

"You are not the first to choose this path," he tells me matter-of-factly. "A little more than a month ago, a man chose to play dumb at his trial. He was taken to the field and made to lie on the ground while rocks were heaped upon his chest in an attempt to force him to speak. He refused, and because of it, he is no longer with us. Is this what thou dost seek?"

I could feel myself begin to shake as the fearful images built in my mind. The pain of all that weight upon the chest, growing heavier and heavier. Ribs cracking and breaking as the air is sucked from the lungs. And finally, hours later, death. I bring a hand up to cover my mouth as I feel the urge to vomit.

Hathorne asks the same questions again, yet I still refrain from answering. His vexation is evident as he stands quickly. "Take her back to the prison," he orders the guards. "Perhaps a week by thyself will loosen thy tongue."

The guard on my left immediately grabs my arm and we begin our trek back to the prison. The room breaks out in whispers and murmurs as I leave the meetinghouse. I bite my lip until it throbs like my pulse to keep the tears from falling now. I already know this trial will not end well for me.

_End Memory_


	4. Chapter 4

A/N: According to all the research I did, there's no proof of torture, except for the guy who got squished to death by boulders, or the 'test' during the Salem Witch Trials. I thought they worked well with my story and what is still to come so I hope you all enjoy reading it as much as I did writing it!

Trials, Chapter 4

"Where dost thou take me?" I ask the guard who holds my arm as we pass the meetinghouse. I fear he may strike me for speaking out but am more fearful as to what lies ahead. We are accompanied once again by two others who follow behind.

"To thy test," he says tartly. "Now shut thy mouth lest I shut it for thee." He shakes my arm roughly to enforce his words.

I wince slightly from the pain. My body is covered with bruises and cuts from my time alone in the prison these past few weeks. Everyday, guards would visit me and ask the same questions as the magistrates during my examination. They would beat me and cut me in an attempt to force me to plead, but I still refused.

After they left, I would free myself and sink to the floor, a sensation of intense sickness and desolation sweeping over me. Normally, I am not one who enjoys the company of others. After a week, I prayed another would be brought so I could talk to someone. Near the end, it got so bad that I began to hope for the guards to visit as they were my only source of human contact.

Since I know not what test he speaks of, I focus my attention rather on my surroundings. It is a beautiful day, not a cloud to be seen. The sun shines brightly high in the sky, sending down warmth to melt the thin blanket of snow that has recently fallen. I know winter is far from over as there are no signs of new life upon the bare tree branches.

The streets are also bare. I have yet to see anyone, which I find odd. On a day such as this, many would be out working and enjoying this unexpected weather. We leave the town and continue walking, staying on the road.

I finally realize in horror where we must be going. Coming to an abrupt stop, my heart jumping in my chest, I begin pulling against the guard who holds me in an attempt to get away. One of the guards from behind grabs my other arm and they start to drag me as I continue to fight.

"No, thou canst do this," I whisper frantically. "I have not been tried. I have yet to plead. Thou canst kill me."

"Thou art not right in the head," the guard on my left says through gritted teeth. "I told thee, thou art to be tested today. The test is to be held at the Town Bridge."

I stop struggling, allowing them to drag me a few feet. I need a moment to reorient myself. "Then, thou art not taking me to Witch Hill?" I ask hopefully.

The guards stop and look at each other. There is a long, brittle silence as I await the answer. Suddenly, they throw back their heads and roar with laughter.

"I thank thee. I was greatly in need of a good laugh today," the guard on my right says, still smiling. They begin walking again, and I, though still confused but extremely relieved, join them.

I can now see the bridge as we come around a bend in the road. A mass of people stands on both sides, awaiting my arrival. From the looks of it, it appears that the whole town has come for this event. As we draw nearer, the crowd separates, allowing us to pass, only to close up again once we are standing on the bridge.

The guards remove the manacles from my wrists and step back, leaving me to face Jonathan Hathorne alone. I look around nervously, rubbing my wrists lightly, and spot a large coil of rope lying nearby. I look to Hathorne in confusion, but do not speak.

"Rebecca Roth," he begins loudly, trying to be heard by all, "dost thou know why thou hast been called here today?" I shake my head slightly and he proceeds. "Since thou hast refused to plead neither guilty nor innocent to the charges of witchcraft brought against thee, we, the magistrates, have taken it upon ourselves to find a way of testing thee. Hast thou ever heard of...the Test of Innocence?"

A few gasps escape from the crowd before it erupts in excited and fearful murmurings. Apparently, they knew no more about what was to come today than I. Hathorne waits patiently for the crowd to quiet down. Though he stands motionless, face void of any emotions, I know that he enjoys this attention greatly from the excited light that is vivid in his eyes.

"For those unfamiliar with this test," he continues, still loudly, "allow me to explain. A witch who refuses to plead is brought to the river where she is stripped of her clothes, tied hand and foot, and thrown into the river. If she floats, she is guilty. If she sinks to a certain point, she is innocent.

"A knot is tied in the rope beforehand to determine if she has sunk far enough. The guards pull her back in using the rope when the test is complete." He lowers his voice, speaking so that only I can hear him. "Dost thou wish to plead now?"

I draw my lips in thoughtfully and look down to the North River flowing beneath us. Though it is a warm day, pieces of ice float upon the river. I will not survive for long down there, I think anxiously. Then again, I have better chances here than in the meetinghouse.

Looking back to Hathorne's expectant face, I clamp my jaw tightly and shake my head mutely. His eyes brighten with pleasure at my answer. "Let the test begin," he yells.

The crowd breaks out in talk as the guards step up and begin undressing me roughly. I fight against them, though I know it is a lost battle. They leave me standing before the crowd in nothing but my undergarments, intensely humiliated, feeling the heat stealing into my face.

One guard grabs my arms tightly from behind while another ties the rope around them. Upon completion of the arms, the last guard ties my ankles together so securely that I would have fallen had it not been for the others holding me up by my now bound arms. Having finished, he picks me up by the ankles and they move into position to hoist me into the river when Hathorne comes forward and looks down on me.

"Tis not too late," he says quietly, bringing his face a mere inches from mine. "Thou canst still plead. Do not be as thy mother."

My eyes widen in disbelief. "What dost thou know of my mother?" I croak. Pain begins to grow in my wrists, yet I choose to ignore it.

An expression of satisfaction shows in his eyes. "Thou art able to speak," he says smugly before answering my question. "Only that she met with a very inimical demise because she too would not cooperate with me. Thou shalt share her fate lest thou plead now."

I stare at him blankly. My mother is dead? I think stupidly. My mood veers sharply to anger. He killed my mother. I am too furious to speak so I spit in his face instead to express my feelings. He stands up slowly, wiping the saliva from his face, and looks at me contemptuously.

"Throw her in," he yells. The crowd roars with approval as the guards begin to swing me to and fro. They release me on the third swing and I become frozen with fear, unable to scream.

A moment later, I hit the icy water and gasp in shock as I go under, sucking in water before I can shut my mouth. I quickly spit it out, along with valuable air. My body shakes from the intense cold and my teeth chatter. Trying to right myself, I look around to decipher which way is up and which is down. The dirty water only allows me to see but a few feet in any direction, almost like being in a fog.

I see light off to my left and assume this to be the sun, so I try moving away from it. My chest already burns with the need for air. I can no longer feel my fingers or toes, the shaking and chattering having stopped now, but I keep trying to move. My brain starts to cloud over, blanking out gently, like the beginning of sleep.

Disconnected scraps of thought drift through my mind as my struggling slows and finally stops. This is not so bad. The burning has stopped now. What was wrong? I feel so tired. That wiggling really wore me out. Maybe I should take a quick nap.

As my eyes begin to shut, I think I see a blurred figure coming from my right. Perhaps I should call out to it, I think dazedly. Or maybe I should not. Why? Oh, yes, I remember now, I would not be heard from down here.

Maybe it is an angel, here to take me to see mother, I think happily as I close my eyes. That would be so nice. I miss her greatly.

And then there was nothing.


	5. Chapter 5

Trials, Chapter 5

"Open thy eyes, child," a soft, familiar voice whispers, breaking the silence that envelops my world.

I know not where I am nor do I care. Absolute darkness surrounds me. Having lost all feeling to my body due to the frigid waters in which I was submerged, it seems as though I have no body. I merely float here in a state of peace and tranquility.

"Thou must open thy eyes," the voice says firmly. "Thy time has not yet come. There is still so much that needs to be done."

But I am dead, I think sadly. One who is dead can do nothing. I try to return to the quiet darkness, awaiting my arrival into the afterlife, when a small pain draws my attention. It is a physical pain, a burning sensation. I try to ignore it, but it will not let me. It grows worse.

It is warm, causing the feeling in my body to awaken. I will it to go away, but it will not listen. I can now feel my hands and face, tingling from the warmth. There is an obscure light to my right and I wonder if this is the cause of the heat.

"Good, good," the voice urges. "Return to that which is known unto thee. Now, open thy eyes."

I try, but find that they have grown quite heavy. Everything hurts so much. I wish to return to the darkness where there was no pain or suffering or worries.

"Thou must go back," the voice says with quiet emphasis. I try again, focusing my attention on the obscure light, trying to draw myself towards it. The pain is so awful, yet I continue.

"I love you, Rebecca," the voice says from a distance, then fades away.

Finally, with a great effort, I am able to open my eyes to a bright, golden light. "Mother?" I rasp. A young man whom I do not know kneels next to me, rubbing my hands.

"Art thou all right?" he asks quietly, his voice full of concern. A fire burns behind him, casting shadows upon his appearance. I lie upon a blanket with another one wrapped around me. I open my mouth, but find I am too parched to speak.

"Here, drink this," he says, lifting my head up slightly. He puts a cup to my lips, pouring a hot liquid down my throat which helps to warm my insides. He lays me back down and sets the cup aside.

"Who art thou?" I whisper.

He sits back and turns his head away from me, toward the fire. "My birth name was Richard, but now I am known as Robin," he says. He looks back at me, allowing me to see him clearly.

He is handsome, with smooth pale skin stretched over high cheekbones. There is a black line, perhaps paint, drawn across his face over his dark blue eyes, as though he wears a mask. His thick black hair tapers neatly to his collar. He appears to be my age, if not a few years older. He wears the garb of the Indians: leather leggings, moccasin boots, and a red tunic.

I feel stronger now and attempt to sit up, but cannot do it without the help of Robin. He moves the blanket that has fallen into my lap around my shoulders, making sure I am fully covered as my hair and undergarments are still quite damp, and sits back again.

I take a drink of the hot liquid and ask, "How did you come to rescue me?"

A small smile touches his lips. "I did not," he admits. He cocks his head, looking past me. "My shy friend behind you was the hero today," he says, raising his voice slightly.

I look behind me and see a young man standing near the entrance of the cave in which we rest. His back is to me as he stands guard. He does not acknowledge Robin's comment.

I look at Robin quizzically. "Who is he?" I ask. "I should like to thank him."

Robin shakes his head slightly. "His birth name was Garth, but now he is called Aqualad. He is not from this land, nor any land known to us. He comes from below the sea. His has been a hard life. He has been called a demon by many because of his appearance." Robin shrugs slightly. "I choose not to judge by the outside, and because of it, have made many an odd looking friend whom I value with my life."

I bow my head, looking towards the floor. "I do not fear that which is different," I say quietly. "For I, too, am different." Turning slightly, I address Aqualad. "I will not judge thee. Please, come and sit with us."

He remains motionless and I begin to wonder if I shall have to go to him. Finally, he gives a resigned sigh and turns, making his way slowly toward us. He sits apart from me and Robin, his body turned toward us, allowing him to see the cave entrance out of the corner of his eye.

I regard him with a speculative gaze. He appears normal enough: slightly older than myself; damp black hair slicked back; classically handsome features. It is at this time that I see that his eyes are different. Where they should be white, they are black with a dot of amethyst color in the middle.

From the neck down, he wears an odd black and blue material that clings to him like a second skin. Drops of water can be seen glistening upon it from the light of the fire. I reach out in an attempt to touch it, but he shies away.

Awkwardly, I clear my throat. "I owe thee greatly," I say, gaining his full attention. "Without thee, I would not be here now. I hope that someday, I shall be able to repay thee."

He studies my face for a moment, perhaps to determine how sincere I am. "Thou art welcome," he murmurs, casting his eyes downward, ending any further conversation. I look back to Robin.

"How didst this all come to be?" I ask him. He looks at me curiously. "This rescue," I explain. "How didst thou know to come for me today? I assume thou art not from the village, so how didst thou know of the harm that was to befall me today?"

"Because, Rebecca," he says coolly, looking directly at me, "we have watched thee for a great time now. Thou art special. And we need the help of someone special."


	6. Chapter 6

Trials, Chapter 6

"What dost thou mean?" I ask with false innocence. Warning spasms of alarm erupt within me and my heart begins thumping madly. My hands, hidden from sight beneath the blanket, twist nervously in my lap.

Rather than answer me, Robin grabs a branch from the fire and rises. He walks away from us, twirling the burning branch expertly from hand to hand, and stops after a few moments. I look to Aqualad for some explanation, only to find his expression a mask of stone.

Suddenly, Robin turns and hurls the burning branch at me. My eyes widen in fear. It feels as though a hand has closed around my throat, cutting off my air supply. Quickly, I throw my hands up before my face and turn my head, closing my eyes tightly, anticipating the coming blow.

Nothing happens. I open my eyes slightly, curiosity getting the better of me, and find the branch suspended inches from me in midair. A black ball of light surrounds it, holding it in place, no longer burning. I sit there, blank, amazed, and very shaken. Finally, I lower my hands, releasing the branch to fall harmlessly to the floor.

Robin returns to us and takes his original seat, tossing the branch back into the fire. An expression of satisfaction shows in his eyes. My shock quickly yields to anger.

"What dost thou think thou art doing?" I ask in a low voice, taut with anger. "Thou could have killed me."

He gives a nonchalant shrug. "I knew there was no danger in this," he says easily. "As I said before, thou art special. Thou hast powers unlike any seen before now. This is why we have come to thee."

All my nervousness slips back to grip me. "I do not understand," I say, uncertainty making my voice harsh and demanding. "Who art thou? What dost thou want with me?"

He leans forward, resting his elbows on his crossed legs and folds his hands together comfortably. "To know these things," he begins, "I must begin with my past. This may take some time."

I glower at him. "Dost thou think I am going anywhere?" I ask softly, mockingly. He gives a small smile and starts his story.

"I have lived with the Indians for as long as I can remember. My parents were killed when I was still but a babe, and I was found by a child-barren woman by the name of Whispering Wind, and her nephew, Fly by Night. They raised me as one of their own, teaching me their ways, so that aside from my skin color, I was one of them.

"As I grew older, I became curious about my true parents. Whispering Wind told me that their deaths were an accident, that they were merely in the wrong place at the wrong time and were killed by a rabid bear. For some reason, I did not believe her and began to ask others from the village what they knew.

"I heard many stories, but one version was given to me by many. My birth parents were missionaries to this New World, trying to convert the Indians to the religion they believed to be true. They were able to reach many. Some of the men in the village were against the white religious fanatics for various reasons and decided to take matters into their own hands. They killed the couple, making it look like an accident, and returned to their normal lives.

"I was unsure what to believe. Were my birth parents murdered? Or was it accidental? I went to the Medicine Man of our village who suggested I take a vision quest. This would enable me to search within my soul for the answers I needed.

"After two weeks of preparing, I journeyed into a nearby forest until I found the perfect area. I set up a ring of stones and sat in the middle, bringing with me nothing but a skin of water. For four days I sat there in deep prayer and observation, without eating or sleeping. A vision did come to me on that last day, but it had nothing to do with the deaths of my birth parents.

"I saw a young girl of Indian descent walking alone in a forest very similar to the one I was in. She wore nothing but skins from an animal, all white. Dark clouds moved in quickly. A shadow in the form of a man stepped out from a tree behind her, holding a blade that appeared to be made of darkness itself. Great warriors stepped out to defend the girl, but were swatted away as flies by this shadow-man. She was stabbed in the back and fell to the ground, dead.

"Fire began to rain from the sky, destroying the forest and everything therein. Only ashes remained. The shadow-man began to move, taking in the destruction. I looked around for any signs of hope that this could be averted and saw off in the distance a small black dot. As it got closer, it took on the shape of a dark bird, perhaps a crow or a raven.

"The blade left the hands of the shadow-man and he disappeared, taking the clouds with him. The bird flew away toward the sunset with the blade floating behind it and there was a bright, blinding light. I opened my eyes in the vision and found there was nobody left but me. I sat down and pushed some of the ashes aside with my hands, only to discover there were small plants growing beneath the ashes. And then I really woke up.

"I returned to the village and told the Medicine Man of all I had seen, hoping he would be able to explain what these all meant. He sent me home to recover while he thought about these things. A few days later, he had found what he believed to be the answer.

"The woman in white is the White Buffalo Calf Woman, a legend sent to us by our Indian brothers to the west. She serves as a symbol of goodness in my world. The shadow-man is one who will come with a dark purpose, seeking to destroy all that is good in this world. He will do this with a mighty weapon that cannot be destroyed by anyone of this earth.

"The bird is one who will come to us from far away with the ability to move things without touching them. This is how she will succeed, for the weapon cannot be touched by human hands without infecting them with its dark poison. This is why I had Aqualad save thee today. I believe thou are that raven."

I can only sit there, speechless, as I take in all that Robin has told me. My mind spins with bewilderment. He believes me to be some kind of savior because of a dream? I am unsure whether I should start laughing because it is preposterous or crying because he believes so much.

"Thou must be mad," I murmur, shaking my head slightly. "How canst thou believe so greatly in a mere dream?"

"It was not a dream," he counters sternly. "It was a vision. It came from within me."

"I see no difference," I say, slightly frustrated. "How canst thou even consider these things to be true?"

"The same way thou canst believe in a God thou hast never seen," he replies in a low voice. "It is because I have faith." He sits up straight. "Right now, I only ask that thou come back to the village with us and speak with the Medicine Man. Thou hast nowhere else to go and our houses are much better than this cave."

I weigh my options carefully. I cannot return to Salem Village or I will surely be hanged. If I stay here, I will be alone, in the wilderness, with no provisions and winter right around the corner.

With a sigh, I concede. "Fine," I tell Robin and he breaks into a smile. "I only go to talk to this 'Medicine Man' of yours, though," I remind him. "I am far from becoming a believer."

"Of course," he says eagerly and reaches behind him to pull out a small bundle I had not noticed before. He unties it and pulls out a black dress and shoes. He clears his throat slightly and holds them out to me. "I borrowed these from your village," he mutters.

I cannot help but smile slightly as I throw the dress on and lace up the shoes. They are all slightly larger than what I am used to, but I am still grateful. I stand up slowly, straightening the skirt, and run a hand through my slightly damp hair, wishing I had something to cover my head.

"I got thee this as well," Robin says, standing up and holding a dark blue, almost purple cloak with a hood. I receive it gladly and immediately put it on. Robin looks on appreciatively.

"Tis thy color," he says with a slight nod. "Shall we?" Aqualad douses the fire and we begin our long journey.


	7. Chapter 7

A/N: I'd like to thank all who have read and reviewed my story. One of these reviews pointed out a flaw in my last chapter and led me to question my writing and the research I had done previously. So I did more. In my defense to this review, I need to point out that I never claimed Robin's parents were Spanish missionaries. They could have been English or French missionaries. Thank you again, these are the kind of reviews that help me the most, and if I offended anyone, I apologize.

Trials, Chapter 7

"Art we there yet?" I ask Robin tiredly, pulling my cloak around me tightly to keep out the bite of the wind. It has been a week now since we set out on this journey to his village. The sun shines overhead, reflecting its brightness upon a fresh layer of snow on the landscape. I would appreciate the beauty more if I could feel my toes.

"Just after these woods," he says easily, glancing back at me over his shoulder. I return my attention to where I step, trying to keep the least amount of snow from entering my boots, and nearly collide with Robin who has suddenly stopped. I look up, my brows furrowed in slight annoyance, to find him standing stock-still, his head cocked to the side, as though listening for something. Looking back, I find Aqualad slowly looking around.

"What is wrong?" I whisper. Robin holds up a hand, indicating I should be silent. It is then that I hear it: a low growl, like that of an animal. An angry animal. My nerves tense immediately.

"I think it is a wolf," Aqualad whispers after a moment, moving closer behind me.

Robin shakes his head slightly. "Wolves travel in packs," he points out. He bends down slowly and pulls a knife that appears to be fashioned from stone from his boot. "They are also shy and tend to stay away from humans."

"I know these things," Aqualad whispers with exaggerated patience. "Didst thou consider that it could be an injured or lost wolf? That it may be so desperate for food that it has overcome its supposed shyness?"

I stand there silently as they continue to bicker, unsure as to what I should do. Animals and I have never gotten along very well, even domestic animals. Father always took care of any wild animals that ventured too closely to our home with his musket.

Suddenly, I am hit from above by something very large. It knocks me to the ground with a grunt. I lie there for a moment, slightly dazed, staring at the sky as I wait for it to stop spinning when I hear a nearby growl. I turn my head to find a beast unlike any I have ever seen or heard of.

It is crouched inches away from me, growling and snarling menacingly. Its ears and tail stand rigid and its fur bristles. Saliva drips from its sharp, pointed teeth as it watches me, ready to attack. It appears to be a wolf, but it is the wrong color. From head to tail, it is completely green.

"Beast Boy, stop!" Robin cries out.

Who is he talking to? I think confusedly. The wolf looks up and cocks its head. In a blur, it changes from a wolf to a boy, a completely green boy. My eyes widen in fear at this display of devilry, and with a slight squeal, I scoot a few feet away from him.

"Why dost thou ask me to stop?" he demands of Robin. "The sachem has asked me to keep strangers away." He glares at me and gives a low growl. "She is a stranger."

"It is all well," Robin says soothingly, taking a cautious step towards the one he called Beast Boy. "She is a friend. She is the raven."

The boy's brows shoot up in surprise and he stares at me quizzically. I stare back, taking in his appearance. He is stringy looking with a child-like face. His hair is cut short, in an unruly fashion at the moment, allowing his pointed ears to stick out. He wears a mantle and breeches made from some sort of cloth rather than animal skin and boots.

He stands up and moves slowly towards me. He offers a hand and smiles sheepishly, a white fang poking out slightly. "Please forgive me," he says with an almost hopeful glint in his eyes. "I have a bad habit of attacking first and asking questions later."

I stare at his hand dumbly, not knowing if I can trust him. Finally, I accept his help. Once standing, I immediately start brushing the snow off of myself. Without looking at him, I casually ask, "What sort of demon art thou?"

He cringes as though he has just been hit, all because of my question, but I do not see it. "I am no demon," he responds quietly. "I am just like everybody else."

I look him up and down and inquiringly raise my left brow. "Hast thou seen thyself lately?" I ask mockingly. "Thou canst take on the form of an animal. Thy skin is green. Thou art not like everybody else."

"Rebecca," Robin says warningly. I could see now that my words were hurting the boy, but I did not care. My head still aches from his attack and I wish to share the pain.

"All is well, Robin," Beast Boy says without taking his eyes off me. "Thou art right," he admits, addressing me now. "I am not like everybody else. But I am willing to guess thou art not like everybody else, either."

"I never claimed to be," I say calmly.

His lips thin with anger. "Art thou always this charming, or am I just lucky?" he asks bitterly. I merely shrug my shoulders.

Robin comes up behind him and places a hand lightly on Beast Boy's shoulder. "Why dost thou not fly ahead and tell the Medicine Man that we are coming?" Robin suggests. "I would greatly appreciate it."

Beast Boy nods slightly and starts walking towards the woods. In a blur, he changes into a hawk and with a screech, takes off through the trees. We watch till he is no longer in sight.

"What was that all about?" Robin asks evenly, turning back to me.

"He hurt me," I respond.

"He apologized," Robin points out.

"Sometimes apologies are not enough," I answer.

Robin sighs. "He is only a boy," he says. "He still has much to learn."

We begin walking again. "What is his story?" I ask curiously after a few minutes of silence. "What caused him to become...that way?"

"His birth name was Garfield," Robin begins, "but he is now called Beast Boy. As a babe, he caught a rare virus that was killing him. His parents traveled the world in search of a cure until they found it across the great sea. They were happy for many years until strange things started to happen to their son.

"His skin and hair became green. He developed the ability to change into animals. His parents were concerned at first, but Beast Boy saw these powers as a gift rather than a curse. The world, though, saw him as a demon.

"He and his parents set out again in search of a cure, but to no avail. His parents died somewhere along the way and Beast Boy found his way to us. How these things happened I am unsure of as Beast Boy will not speak of them. I am just thankful to have him as a friend."

We step out of the woods and I look up, my eyes widening in wonder at the sight before me. "Welcome to my home, Rebecca," Robin says happily. "I think you will like it here."


	8. Chapter 8

Trials, Chapter 8

"This is where thou were brought up?" I ask Robin, awestruck.

We begin wandering through the village. It is nothing like my home. The people of Salem live in two-story houses spread far and wide to allow much room for farming, though I always believed it was to prevent the prying eyes of nosy neighbors from interfering. Men would spend the majority of their time outside to tend the fields, care for the livestock, or hunt for food. Women would stay inside to cook, clean, and sew. There was very little time for fun and games, even for children. I rarely saw anyone outside the family except during church gatherings or trading in the autumn.

Here, there are many odd-looking structures that I assume are houses. They are smaller than the ones found in Salem, and closer, made from small trees bent and tied together in a dome shape with strips of bark covering the tops. There is a large hole in the "roof" of each one which serves as a crude chimney.

I watch two little boys run by us, laughing gleefully, as they race each other. A little girl sits by a fire, playing with a doll of corn husks, as an older woman braids her long hair. Other women also sit around the fire, sewing blankets and weaving mats, teaching young girls how these things are done. They all wear clothes of animal skins.

An old man sits on a half-buried log, telling a story to a small audience of children. I do not see many men around and ask Robin of this. He tells me they are most likely off hunting or teaching young boys how to hunt.

We stop at a large open space in the middle of all the homes where an old woman sits stoking a huge fire. She pulls something from a pouch that lies at her feet and tosses it into the fire, mumbling some words that I cannot understand. As I inhale the heady scent, I can feel my aching muscles begin to relax. I sit down on one of the many half-buried logs that surround the fire for fear my legs will not be able to hold me much longer.

"Welcome home, young travelers," the old woman says, turning her attention to us. "I see thy journey was profitable. This must be the raven."

"Silent Drum, this is Rebecca Roth," Robin says as a form of introduction. She looks at me intently and I wrap my cloak around me tighter, feeling as though this woman can see more than what is outside. "Rebecca comes to us from the village of Salem to speak with thee."

I turn to Robin in surprise. "I thought I came to speak with the Medicine Man?" I ask. My eyes widen with realization. "Oh."

The old woman chuckles as a slight flush enters Robin's cheeks. "It is merely a title," he explains. "I did not think thou wouldst come if thou knew our Medicine Man is a woman. I apologize."

I am unsure how to react. I have been raised in a place where women never hold positions of power. Now I sit before one who supposedly heals physical and spiritual sicknesses and communicates with spirits.

She addresses the boys. "Robin, go to the hunting grounds. There thou wilt find Starfire. She has been waiting for thee. Aqualad, go to the river and help the men with the fishing. Rebecca and I must talk now."

A flicker of apprehension courses through me as I watch them leave. "Robin?" I call out. He turns back and looks at me questioningly. "I do not wish for thee to leave."

He gives me a reassuring smile. "Do not fear," he tells me. "Silent Drum is very wise. She knows the answers even before thou knowest the questions." With a wink, he turns and continues walking.

We sit in silence for a few moments as I watch Silent Drum add more items from her bag to the fire. The smoke changes from gray to green. "What art thou doing?" I finally ask, curiosity getting the better of me.

She gives me a small smile. "I am sure thou didst not come all this way merely to ask me of the healing qualities of plants," she says. "Thou came because thou hast nowhere else to go."

My body stiffens in shock. "No," I say indignantly, not wanting to admit that she has spoken the truth. "Robin had some sort of vision that he believes involves me. He asked me to come and speak with thee on this."

She nods her head slightly. "So," she begins, "thou came to see me because of the vision of a stranger. Does this not seem odd to thee?"

"He helped to save my life," I say quietly.

"How much of this vision has he told you of?" she inquires.

"All that he knows," I respond.

"And how much do you believe?" she asks.

I give a small shrug. "None."

"Why?"

I look at her as though she is not right in the head. "Because it is a dream," I say slowly, like I am speaking to a child. "Nothing more."

She thinks for a moment. An amused look comes into her eyes. "Does not the great book which thy religion is based upon tell of men long ago who had dreams that foretold of the future?"

I am caught off guard by this question. "How can thou know of these things?" I ask.

"White men from across the great sea have come to this village since I was a young girl, trying to convert us to their religion," she explains. "They show us this great book and leave many for us to study. Sometimes they succeed and the men of this village leave to join the white man. Usually, they fail. Bad white men take the men of this village to work for them. After many years, the men who were taken find a way to come back, having gained great knowledge, such as thy language, but at a great price."

"I am sorry," I say sincerely. "I had no idea."

"It is not important now," she says. "The end of the world has been foreseen. Spirits tell me that the shadow man plots to travel to our world soon in search of the weapon that will enable him to succeed in wiping out all goodness."

"Why would he do this?" I ask.

She gives me a sly smile. "I thought thou didst not believe?" she asks innocently. "Thou art certainly showing much interest in a mere dream."

My lips thin in anger. "I do not know what to believe," I answer. "My beliefs have been tested greatly these past few months. Perhaps it is time to try something else. Now, who is this shadow man?"

She sighs and returns her gaze to the fire. "Alas, we do not know," she says. "His identity is shrouded by a mask. All we know is that he calls himself Slade."

"Dost thou know of the weapon he seeks?"

"Visions can be very hard to decipher," she admits. "They can either be the true item or a representation of what the item could be. According to Robin's vision, it is a blade that appears to be made of darkness itself. The only time I have heard of such an item is through myth passed on to us by other tribes.

"Long ago, before the gods created man, or even this world, there was only darkness and the demons which dwelt therein. They were able to mold the darkness and create a weapon in the shape of a sword. When plunged into the heart of any living being, the goodness within would die, leaving only evil.

"The gods heard of this weapon and a great battle ensued as they wanted to destroy it. The gods defeated the demons, but the weapon was lost. They searched a thousand years for it, but were unsuccessful. It is believed that the leader of the demons was wounded and ran away with the weapon during the great battle, only to come here, to this world, shortly after it was created, when he felt safe. He buried the weapon and died shortly thereafter. The weapon has not been seen since."

I stare at her blankly. "Am I to believe this story?" I ask uncertainly.

"No," she says with a slight laugh. "As I said, it is only a myth." She becomes serious. "What thou shouldst believe is that a great evil is coming. We need thy help in stopping it. Thou art very powerful. I can teach thee to control thy powers if thou will agree to help us. What dost thou say, Rebecca?"

I sit there for a moment. It all sounds like a bad dream, yet these people believe it so greatly. Perhaps there is some truth to it. I nod my head slightly. "I will help thee any way I can" I tell her. "And call me Raven."


	9. Chapter 9

Trials, Chapter 9

_What have I gotten myself into?_ I think despondently.

I wander through the forest that surrounds the village after my talk with Silent Drum, alone, needing time to ponder my true motivation for staying. Do I honestly believe Robin's dream which claims I am to be a savior of the world? _No,_ I answer myself instantly, _for I am a demon, albeit a half-demon, but a demon nonetheless. I have been damned from birth and there is nothing I nor anyone else can do to change that._

I have come upon a small lake and stop at the edge, looking out at nothing but water and more trees. The sky is gray with clouds that recently moved in with promises of snow at any moment. _I believe that Robin believes his dream. He has embraced it as a prophecy, as have the people of this village. They all believe me to be something I am not. I do not wish to lead them on, to deceive them in any way, but, as Silent Drum said, I have nowhere else to go. Is my motivation selfishness, then, staying only because it suits me for now? Will I leave them at the first sign of spring to head for a nearby village like the one I grew up in,_ _hoping to be taken in as a normal person?_

I sigh and sit on a fallen tree close to the water, looking down at my reflection. Anyone can see that I am far from normal. I first noticed during our travels to the Indian village that my appearance has changed. My skin has taken on a grayish tint, making me look sickly. My hair now holds violet streaks amongst the ebony locks I have known all my life. My cerulean eyes, once so common amongst my village, have changed to amethyst, a color to condemn any person of witchcraft.

I sigh again and lift a small rock with my power, skipping it across the water. Mother warned me something like this might happen one day. The demon within is making itself known. It is a part of me, a part of what makes me who I am. Mother taught me that truth. She taught me to never be ashamed of who I am. I feel the sharp sting of tears and lower my head to my hands to hide my face, even though I am alone. I am no longer able to hide from the world. There is no way I can ever return to a normal life.

The snapping of a twig alerts me to the arrival of another and I quickly wipe my tears away. I stand, pulling my hood up to cover my appearance, and turn around to behold the figure of a man approaching from within the forest. As he comes closer, I am able to discern that he is an older man, mayhap later fifties, dressed simply and gravely as any other man from my village. I think him to be a simple traveler, yet he walks with an air of confidence, as one who would feel comfortable in the house of the governor as well as King William's, were he called upon to do either.

The only remarkable thing is the staff he carries. It bares the likeness of a black snake, so well-crafted, that, were it to be thrown to the ground, I would not be surprised to see it begin to wriggle and twist as a real snake. It is a sure sign of one who worships darkness and I prepare myself to flee when he speaks.

"Fear not, child." His baritone voice holds no malice, but I sense that not all is as it appears and remain wary of his presence. "I wish thee no harm. I am but a lowly traveler, come from very far away, merely to visit distant relatives for a short while."

"How far away?" I ask suspiciously.

He stops before me and gives a weary smile. "Alas, child, much farther than thou hast ever traveled. May I?" He points to the fallen tree, indicating that he would like to sit. I give a small nod and he moves around me, setting himself down slowly with a sigh of relief. He places the staff upon his lap and pats the area beside him where I had been sitting before his arrival. I decide to join him, being sure to keep a slight distance between us.

"What brings thee to the forest today?" he asks in a careless manner. "I find thee here all by thyself, far from any white man's village. Mayhap thou art a traveler as myself?"

"Why dost thou care?"

"I do not. I am merely trying to engage thee in friendly conversation so that thou wilt stop being so suspicious of me. It seems, though, that the art of small talk is lost to thee. Mayhap thou art not used to company?"

"No," I answer quietly, glancing down as though embarrassed. I am...different...from others. All my life, I have been judged falsely, even by some who claimed to be my friends. Those who remained true to me were killed. I have learned to prefer the peace that comes with solitude. It is safer, both for myself and others."

My eyes widen in shock as I realize how much I have told him, a complete stranger. _I am acting so out of character. Normally, I am as shy as a field mouse, avoiding human contact when I can, especially that of men. Perhaps I have been bewitched?_

I turn to him, scowling. "What didst thou do to me?"

A small smile plays at the corner of his mouth, yet he does not look at me. "I know not what thou dost speak of. I only sit here, a weary traveler enjoying the company of a lovely young lady."

"Balderdash," I spit. "Thou art no mere traveler. At first glance, thy story wouldst appear true. But I have noticed that thou hast not supplies: no food nor water nor clothing besides the ones on thyself. All thou hast is that dark staff. Tell me, was it a gift from the devil himself? Does he supply thee with all thy needs?"

He slowly turns to me and stares as though in shock at my straightforwardness. He recovers quickly, though. His lips curl into a wicked smile, his eyes burn with hatred, and he lets out a bark of laughter. Panic begins to well in my throat and I try to bolt, but find I am frozen.

"Thou dost think I am a servant of the devil?" He chuckles scornfully and I feel my pulse quicken with fear. "No, child, I am much worse than the devil. That pompous windbag could not hold a candle to the power I possess. Behold, my true form." He waves his hand over the water and it ripples, obscuring his reflection. I find I am able to move again, but am too frightened to do more than turn my head to the water. After a moment, the ripples settle, revealing the reflection of a hideous, large, red monster beside me with a crown of antlers and two sets of eyes that blaze with the very fires of hell. I look at the stranger out of the corner of my eye and find his real form remains that of a human. My pulse races and I open my mouth to scream, but no sound emits.

"I am Trigon the Terrible, conqueror of worlds, omnipotent ruler of dimensions beyond thy imagination. I seek to gain power by any means necessary, to control all, be it through domination or destruction. Many creatures have attempted to thwart me, but all have fallen at my hand, unable to stand up to my greatness. I am evil incarnate. I am a god."

I can only sit there, speechless, my heart beating erratically as my mind spins with bewilderment. _Why has he told me these things? Does he plan to kill me? Or worse, me_ _of my innocence all in the name of evil?_ I feel the tree I sit upon begin to shake and look down dumbly to find it glowing with the sinister black glow that is my power. I shut my eyes tightly and breathe in deeply, trying to gain control of the situation by pushing my emotions aside. Moments later, the tree is once again dormant and I slowly open my eyes to find Trigon watching me with a critical squint.

"Why hast thou come here?" I ask quickly, hoping to avoid any questions he may have concerning my power. "Why hast thou told me all these things? Dost thou wish to control this world? Or wilt thou destroy it?"

A shadow of annoyance crosses his face. "This world shall be mine, in time. It is prophesied that the gem, born of the fires of evil, shall open the portal which will allow me to claim this planet as my own and end the reign of man. It has already been set in motion. It is inevitable." Pausing, he gazes at me speculatively. "Thou dost wish to know why I tell thee of these things to come. It is because I must. It is to prepare thee, to make thyself ready for the important role thou wilt play in this future."

I do not long for him to continue, but rather feel compelled to know more. "What 'role'?" I whisper fearfully. A cold wind blows through the clearing causing shivers to run through my body. At least, I tell myself it is because of the wind rather than the anticipation of his answer.

Again, he waves his hand over the water, but it is not his reflection that changes, but mine. Two sets of red glowing eyes stare at me from beneath my hood and I quickly pull it down to confirm it is I as the reflection mimics the motion. The hair is longer, falling well past the shoulders, and completely violet. A cloak like my own covers her upper body and black tentacles peak out from beneath the dress where her feet should be, writhing and wriggling like snakes. A satanic smile spreads across the lips of my reflection. I have become a monster. I place a hand to my mouth to stifle a sob as a flash of wild grief rips through me.

"This is who thou art within," he says softly, leaning towards me. "Strong, powerful, forceful. No limits, no weaknesses, reveling in the chaos thou canst create. And, my gem, thou shalt fulfill the prophecy, one day laying claim to thy birthright by opening the portal, allowing me permanent residence on this world that I may take up my reign of terror." He puts his hand under my chin and turns my head stiffly towards his impassive face. I can only stare into his passionless eyes. "It is thy destiny, daughter," he finishes matter-of-factly.

I feel my eyes widen in astonishment and quickly pull away with a gasp as his revelation sends my thoughts into a tumult. _Daughter? No, this cannot be. Anyone but him._ I bite my lip and look back to the water to find my demon self staring back at me with those evil eyes, just like his. A moan rises in the back of my throat.

_Why? Why now? Why reveal these things to me now? I am supposed to save this world, not bring about destruction. I am a savior, not a harbinger of death. _Yet I know he speaks only the truth. _I only delude myself with such thoughts of grandeur. I am a demon. Demons are evil. They cannot save_ _nor be saved._ This is why I never really believed Robin's proclamation of the salvation I would bring. I wanted to so badly, but I knew in my heart it could not be correct. It is why I came out here to begin with, to try to convince myself otherwise. _It is thy destiny,_ the words echo in my mind. A sensation of intense sickness and desolation sweeps over me.

"I see from thy despair that thou hast accepted thy fate." His voice is stern with no vestige of sympathy in its hardness. He rises in one fluid motion and stands over me, boldly intimidating. "I will take my leave now."

I bow my head in shame as tears begin to well up in my eyes. _I am so sorry, Robin. I cannot be the raven in your vision. I cannot help thee._

_**Why not?**_ a familiar, soothing voice probes from within. It sounds like an older version of myself. I believe it to be my conscience, and mentally engage it in conversation.

_What?_

_**Why canst thou not help him?**_ the soft voice presses.

_Wast thou not listening? I am a demon. Demons do not help._

_**Thou art only half demon,**_ the older voice points out. _**What of thy human half? What of thy human soul? Can it not be saved? Does it not deserve redemption?**_

_It is thy destiny,_ his words echo through my mind again.

_**No**_, the voice says firmly. _**Thy destiny is not predetermined. It is created by the choices thou dost make. Humans have been blessed and cursed with free will, the ability to decide what is right and wrong. Humans can choose which path is to be taken and in so doing, choose the outcome of life. Nothing is set in stone. What dost thou choose?**_

_I do not wish to be evil. But I cannot be saved—_

_**Yes, thou canst be. Thou must only believe. All thy life thou hast been told thou art evil, all because thou art different. The prejudices of others hast clouded thy judgment, do not allow them to govern thee as well. Choose the virtuous path. **_

_But, I am—_

_**Thou canst no longer think only of thyself, for now there are others who rely upon thee. Silent Drum, Aqualad, Beast Boy, Robin. Thou didst make a commitment to help them, even when thou didst know that thou wast a demon. Thou didst make the decision to do what is right. Nothing has changed. Wilt thou turn thy back on them, becoming both a liar and a coward?**_

With a pulse-pounding certainty, I know what I must do. My lips thin with determination and I clench my hands into fists, girding myself with resolve. Slowly, I stand and turn to face him, tilting my head back to meet his eyes boldly.

"No," I say tautly. He shows no reaction, so I continue. "I will not accept this. Not willingly. Not now. There is much I must do, promises I must fulfill. I am going to save this world—"

"Only to destroy it at a later date," he interrupts. His words are hurtful. I take in a sharp breath, feeling as though I have been struck. I bow my head to hide the pain, forcing in slow, deep breaths to calm myself. "The outcome is always the same," he continues. "As I have told thee, in the end, thou shalt bring about devastation. It matters not whether thou dost save it now or not."

"It matters to me," I whisper, head still bowed. I know I sound childish, but I care not. Within, I feel a burning desire to take on this challenge. I need to do this, to prove to myself that I was not merely born to be used as a tool for this monster. I slowly lift my head, gathering as much courage as I can muster, to glare at him defiantly.

"Stubbornness," he sneers. "A foolish human trait." I simply stand there, not taking my eyes from him, sure he can hear my heart pounding as loud and as fast as I can. He turns his head and looks at the lake, studying the water as though he has never seen it before today, silent for what feels like an eternity, though in truth is only a mere minute.

"Save this world, if thou must," he finally says, "but know this—" Before I can celebrate my small victory, he is behind me, hand grasping my hair painfully near the roots, and jerks my head back. I let out a yelp and start to reach up with both hands to stop him, but he wraps his free arm around my upper body, drawing me tautly against him, preventing me from moving. My body trembles uncontrollably and I can hear myself panting in terror. "—attempt to defy me again, and thou shalt not live long enough to regret it," he whispers. He is so close that I can feel his warm breath and lips brush against my ear as he speaks.

"Thou art not the first key. Others have come before thee which I have struck down due to their ungratefulness. Do not think I will spare thee for a second. Thou art nothing more than a convenience to me. I have waited for millennia to take this world and can wait more, if I must. Time is nothing to me. Understand?" He emphasizes with another yank and I can only whimper my response as a tear rolls down my cheek.

He releases my body and brings his now free hand up to cover my forehead and eyes. He whispers strange words I do not recognize and a warm sensation begins to beneath his palm. It spreads throughout my body and continues to rise in heat. When it becomes unpleasant, I lift my hands again to stop him, wrapping my fingers around his arm, and try to pry him off of me. As the unpleasantness turns to painful, I begin to squirm and whimper, digging my nails into his flesh. Still, he continues to whisper those strange words and the pain becomes excruciating. I scream until my throat is raw as it feels like I am being branded in multiple places at the same time. Unable to contain my power, I release it through my hands onto his arm, again and again, which I still hold in a vice-like grip. This only causes him to emit a grunt before he continues his incantation.

Suddenly, he stops and steps away, allowing me to slump to the ground, sobbing and spent of all my energy. I begin to wrap my arms around myself, but scream at the pain my own touch brings upon my now exposed flesh. I look down to find my clothes in tatters, holes burned throughout, revealing glowing red foreign symbols along my body.

"These are the Marks of Scath," he explains. "They are necessary for bring me to this world of mortals." Even s he speaks, the markings dull, along with the pain, until there is nothing left, leaving my skin flawless. "They have been engraved upon thy spirit forevermore, only to appear again when the time of my coming draws near. What thou dost choose to do until then, be it this 'quest' or something else, I leave to thee." My sobs have quieted down and I shakily wrap my arms around myself again, anticipating pain, but feeling none. I let out a relieved sigh and bow my head, on the verge of passing out, when I feel his hand tangle in my hair again, slowly pulling me up. I gasp and scramble to quickly stand on weak legs, locking me knees to keep from falling.

"A word of advice before my leave," he whispers close to my ear again. "Do not even entertain the thought of defeating me. Thy power is weak, nothing more than the bite of an insect upon me. Mortal weapons are useless against me. I have defeated armies larger than the population of this entire planet in a matter of seconds. Accept thy fate and use thy time wisely. Until we meet again, daughter." And with that, I feel his presence depart, leaving no physical sign that he was ever there, save for my tattered clothing.

I fall to the ground again, weeping aloud, rocking back and forth. I think I hear my name being called from a distance, but choose to ignore it. Rather, I pray for my fatigue to overcome me and allow me to slumber so that I may escape the torment that now eats away within me even if for only a few hours. After a few minutes, my tears begin to subside when a light touch on my shoulder awakens my panic, causing me to scream in fear and, with renewed energy, quickly turn, arm raised, striking whoever is behind me. I hear him grunt and turn away, trying to run, but my legs are still too weak to support me and I fall a few times before I am grabbed around the waist from behind and lifted. I let out an unearthly scream and prepare to use what is left of my power on this new threat when I am able to distinguish the words his familiar voice is saying.

"—Raven, calm thyself, please. I am not trying to harm thee. It is only I, Robin," he yells. "All is well, I am here now. I have found thee. Please, be calm, no more fear." _Robin_. A cry of relief breaks from my lips and I instantly go slack in his arms, my head lolling back to rest on his shoulder, my arms falling to my sides as more tears find their way down my cheeks.

We stay like this for some time, he, supporting my dead weight, whispering lies of everything being all right and okay now in an attempt to soothe me, and I, silently weeping as I try to think of a way to tell him the horror I am to bring about. Finally, the tears run out and I slowly turn my head to look at him, feeling absurdly self-conscious, wondering what he must think of me after this display of weakness. Our faces now only inches apart, I see nothing but concern, his gaze as soft as a caress.

"Oh, Robin." My fingers ache to reach up and touch him, but exhaustion has finally caught up with me and I can no longer keep my eyes open as I fall into a blessedly dreamless sleep.


End file.
